


Give Up the Ghost

by LunaStellaCat



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-20
Updated: 2017-07-20
Packaged: 2018-12-04 12:30:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,519
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11555247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LunaStellaCat/pseuds/LunaStellaCat
Summary: Emmeline learns a lesson after her grandmother's death.Written for Dossy Vilja's "Wizards Around the World Challenge:  Season 2"





	Give Up the Ghost

“Emmeline” 

She stood in the church struggling with a lighter when the old woman took her last breath. Usually a person borrowed light from another candle or took a match from the box, but she chose the difficult route for no reason at all. Emmeline handed over the hairbrush and sat up straighter in the wooden chair. She wore a simple black dress and left the veil on the bed. 

Fabian lifted a finger, signaling for her to wait. He wore black dress robes, and although he didn’t need to be here, he’d rushed to be at Emmeline’s and Gideon’s side in Paris at the drop of a hat because he always said he held up the responsibility of the middle child and went wherever he was needed; he acted as the irresponsible one, the complete opposite of his identical twin brother, he acted like he had his life together in pinch. He pulled back his reddish-brown hair with an elastic band and painted the picture for her. Stocky and muscular, he carried his own in a brawl and juggled a lot in his career. 

Fabian pulled back the curtain. “He’s dancing in the middle of the street. I told you not to marry the dumb one.” 

“He got the contract,” said Emmeline, breathing easier for the first time in days. 

Gideon, a negotiator for the Department of International Magical Cooperation, lived, slept, and breathed for risks like these. She turned to Fabian, purely for amusement, and spoke in hurried French, enjoying Fabian’s confused expression; she used her native tongue against him for chuckles, and Fabian kept setting himself up for a fall and a pregnant pause. 

“That’s why it ain’t a boy,” said Fabian, who clearly caught none of whatever she said. 

He nodded, speaking of Nicolas Flamel as if they were old friends, despite the fact he'd probably come across the name in texts. Gideon hurried upstairs, ready to share his news, but he glanced from his brother to his wife, clearly missing something. Fabian nodded, sneered at her like a cat playing with a mouse, but she didn't care either way. After eight years and seven miscarriages, Emmeline hardened herself to not feel anything; she refused to entertain hope, a dangerous thing. 

“You’ve got news, but if you’ll wait a moment,” said Emmeline, sighing when she couldn't get out of the chair. Both brothers pretended like they didn't know why she held out a hand. “From your side, I’ve no doubt this is hilarious, but you wouldn’t do it to your sister … Gideon, if you walk away …” 

“I will pay you.” Fabian tempted him with an offer, and Gideon hesitated for a moment and lingered in the doorway. Emmeline braided her hair with quick fingers and answered Fabian with a hand gesture when he said a niece might liven the family. Gideon rushed back downstairs and joined them a little later with a lanky, freckled kid. “Where’d you get him? I asked Molly last night if I could take Bill to Paris.” 

“That’s when you reorganize your attack and go behind your sister's back to talk with her husband,” said Gideon, lifting his finger. Bill hopped on his back and switched to piggyback style. “People don’t tell me no, and Molly didn't believe me when I told her I’ve got delegates eating out of my hand. So, whilst you’re hating me, madame, I bought you a distraction in the form of a little boy.” 

Fabian helped Emmeline with her shoes and heaved her to her feet. “You decided on a present at a funeral. What the hell’s wrong with you?” 

“Child present.” Emmeline covered Bill’s ears after he hugged her. Gideon went on to say he'd talked the right people into doubling the figures on his contract because he’d sealed the deal at the start of winter session. After changing for the ceremony, he walked over and kissed her as Bill shuffled aside and made a face. “I never worry about you because you always manage to succeed in the end. We’re getting the flat above ours? If the little old lady steals it from underneath us…” 

“I see your flat, and I raise you one better,” he said, positively beaming at her as he slipped a set of old-fashioned keys in her hand. “I signed a mortgage and placed a downpayment on 57 rue de Montmorency in the Marais district, which is within walking distance of Nicolas Flamel’s old house.” 

“Within walking distance of Auberge Nicolas Flamel.” Nicolas’s house in Paris, one of the city’s oldest standing stone structures, got converted into a quaint restaurant. She clapped her hands like an excited child and embraced him again, pecking him on the cheek. “You dance over mortgages now?” 

“You’re ancient, settled down, and boring,” sighed Fabian, saying this made him a sad, sorry man. 

“I’ve been married for eight years.” Gideon flashed his left hand and laughed when Fabian rolled his eyes. 

Good news still came the day they laid her grandmother to rest. Jacqueline Luc Marceau, an apprentice and learned partner of Nicolas Flamel, had passed in her sleep after complications from a bout of the flu followed by walking pneumonia. On its face, this really wouldn't have knocked down a witch, but when Muggle illnesses came with a one-two punch, they sometimes took the elderly. Emmeline stood on the sidelines as her grandmother lost grip with reality and stopped taking potions or nourishment. Gideon left after the service. Exhausted and spent, she sat with him on the bed and rested her head on his shoulder. 

Fabian did not ask if she was all right. He drew two chairs in midair, held up a finger again and found a deck of Exploding Snap cards somewhere downstairs. Gideon talked with Bill about his travels, most recently France, England, Spain and Poland and handed over a token; Bill collected these trinkets. It was a ticket to a ferry, and Emmeline explained Muggles took a boat across the English Channel to get from Dover to Calais. The trip took about an hour and a half, depending on the weather. 

“Why would you travel by a boat?” Bill folded the ticket and slipped it into his jeans pocket. 

“I could Apparate, but I find it relaxing whenever I have the time. It clears my head.” Gideon smiled when Fabian downright called him an idiot. 

Emmeline, an only child raised by her grandparents, led a pampered, sheltered life, so she’d missed out on this. Bill, a smart kid for his age, picked up on stuff and called so-called adults out on a bluff. Gideon, a seasoned negotiator, got caught between a rock and a hard place by his nephew. Because he was the eldest of the lot, Bill remained Emmeline’s favorite; Fabian liked Charlie because he was funny and unafraid; Gideon preferred Bill because he was the eldest, too, and he understood the responsibility. 

“Eight,” recited Emmeline, reminding Fabian of Bill’s age. 

“Eight. I don’t remember eight.” Fabian patted Bill on the knee and said he was thirty-something. Gideon said thirty-three, erasing any and all confusion. “See there? Thirty-something because you stop counting when you get old. Yeah, Aunt Emmeline’s laughing over there because she knows what to expect. How old are you, Emmeline?'

“Twenty-nine.” Emmeline already shooed offers to celebrate her thirtieth. 

“Nearly there. Ha.” Fabian pointed, making her blush. Emmeline never would’ve married Gideon or gotten the thumbs-up for the union had she not liked Fabian because he stayed Gideon’s best friend. Fabian took off his watch, slammed it on the side of the bed and put it back on. “So, we’re staying in France till the little girl arrives?” 

Bill’s ears perked up, excited. “It’s a girl?” 

“There’s no way of knowing if the fetus is a girl or not,” said Emmeline, sitting up and putting this to bed before it sparked an interesting conversation with the Weasley family. Muggles had this ability through science, but even if she had the opportunity to know the answer, she wouldn’t care. “Fetus is fetus until further notice if something comes of it.” 

“Whatever. Jacqueline said she liked Sophie when I suggested it.” Fabian stuck out his tongue and turned to Bill, confirming nothing but speculation. 

Emmeline covered her ears, not wanting to hear any of this, and left the room as he recited the name. As a scientist, an amateur alchemist, she trusted in science and knew this was pure stupidity, but she went with it regardless. She studied alchemy as a hobby. She went into the kitchen, missing her grandmother, and found the tin of sablé au chocolat. Even with her grandfather away at Beauxbatons, he kept the same hiding spot in his house for the sweets. 

“A beautiful girl,” said a voice. 

Emmeline nearly jumped out of her skin and accidentally banged her hip of the counter when she grabbed her wand and spun around. The tin slipped from her fingers, but she caught it. A thin Frenchman in a casual suit sat at the table with his feet up. Gabriel, her grandfather, Monsieur Marceau to the students of Beauxbatons, smoked a pipe and whistled a familiar tune. 

“Papa.” She opened the tin and shook it, offering him one or two. 

Gabriel might be a grandfather, almost a great-grandfather, yet he clung to his age and preferred to pretend otherwise. Gabriel asked if she was all right and helped himself to three. Emmeline held one between her teeth, waved Bill over when he shuffled in and ran a hand through his thick red curls. She exchanged a hurried introduction. As Gabriel spoke little to no English, she translated. “Bill, he wants to know what you think of Paris. This is his home.” 

Bill studied Gabriel’s wrinkled face as he helped himself to a biscuit. “He doesn't speak English?” 

“You don't speak French? I’m guessing you don’t stray too far from your uncle’s side.” Emmeline gave the straight translation and frowned a little at her grandfather. Gabriel understood some English. A second later, she caught herself as she slipped and gripped Bill’s shoulders and the half-eaten biscuit fell onto the floor. “Get your uncle, please.”

“But…” Bill darted out of the kitchen when Gabriel shouted at him. 

“* _Respirer, respirer,_ ” advised Gabriel, rushing over to her as the boy left and telling her to breathe. Emmeline nodded, locking eyes with him as she mirrored his deep, calming breaths. Gabriel had five children of his own, so he’d been down this road before. 

“Emmeline.” Gideon ran as fast as he could and got by her side in no time. Registering the panic darting in his eyes, she shushed him, calming herself, not wanting to frighten the boy at his heels. Fabian, who stayed with them through absolutely everything, got used to this never ending well, so he kept his distance. “What’re you doing?”

“Give it a moment.” She squeezed his hand gently, her eyes still on her grandfather’s face. “It’s settled down. Thank you, Papa. You’re going to be there when it comes?” 

Gabriel insisted she shouldn't think such things. Gideon translated for the other two, filling in the gaps, and caressed her cheek lovingly. He hated whenever she referred it the child as “it”, “fetus” or even “Marceau”, but he understood why. Gabriel rested a hand on her shoulder and poured her a glass of water. 

“A name,” said Gabriel lightly, pressing his lips to her forehead and calming her with a simple gesture. He recited the names of his own children. “Alexis, Marianne, David, Olivier, and Juliette.” 

“Sophie. Sophie Marceau, anyone? Anyone?” Fabian gave Bill a high five when he raised his hand like a timid student unsure of his guess. Gabriel nodded, holding his pipe between his teeth and threw out the name of Sophie Jacqueline Vivienne Marceau. Fabian pointed at the old man and raised his hand. Gabriel left him hanging. “Gabe? Gabriel, we shared a moment, monsieur, you can’t …” 

Gabriel walked away, grinning from ear to ear, and he came back and clasped Fabian’s hands in both of his. Gabriel enjoyed people, toyed with them, which made him a beloved Transfiguration professor. He’d explained the differences among Transfiguration, transmutation, and alchemy to Emmeline in long, involved conversations, yet he never cheapened any aspect of the studies. 

“Sophie,” said Gideon softly. 

“No, no! How many times must we go through this?” Emmeline shook her head frantically, softening for a moment when he kissed her. She pushed him away, tossed the discarded biscuit in the wastebasket, and tapped her feet impatiently. “If you name it, you become attached and the walls go down and … Jacqueline died. If this finally works with … without her … I didn’t want it. I didn’t want anymore. I told you. Damn it.” 

Gideon frowned at her, doubting her fear. “Come on.” 

“No. Your sister’s so damn fortunate, and she doesn't even know. Me? I’m afraid to move … I can't breathe.” She twisted her fingers, playing with her hands as Bill’s fear dawned on her. Emmeline wanted her grandmother back, and the rest of it ceased to matter. She took her traveling cloak off the hook, said she needed some fresh air, and stepped out into the night. 

 

She passed the restaurant on 51 rue de Montmorency and paced in front of the establishment. A chef, a portly man, probably listening to her pant like a dog, stamped out his cigarette and opened the door. She’d twisted an emerald green shawl through her arms and talked to herself, her hand shaking as she touched her lips. 

A thin man, a beggar disguised in a tattered traveling cloak, entered the establishment and came out laden with two bags of takeaway. Emmeline, surprised he had any coin on his person, supposed he stole from these Muggles, and she shook her head when he beckoned to her . He lowered his hood, revealing salt and pepper locks and gnarled hands. His eyes, dark eyes, got trapped in a lined face. He handed the portly man coin and suggested they work on the floors. 

"I remember you at this height.” The beggar placed his hand at his knee. Emmeline walked at a brisk pace. The old man reached her and stood bathed in light from the nearby streetlamp, and Emmeline, taking him for a clever homeless person, patted herself down and insisted she had nothing. “I don’t mean to frighten you, child. You don’t remember me? You called me Abraham once upon a time.” 

“Abraham,” she said shakily, jarring her memory as she tripped over the cloak. She cried out, falling onto the pavement, trying and failing to catch herself, though the ancient wanderer snatched her with quick reflexes unnatural for his age. He held her, resting a hand on her belly and waiting for her breathing to slow. Her grandfather's face filled her mind, and she caught a whiff of lingering tobacco off this stranger. “What’s your given name? I know you.”

“You’re a clever girl,” he said, letting her go and keeping an eye on her. The stranger called Abraham reached inside his shabby robes and handed her an old silver cigarette lighter. He took it, flipped its switch, and showed her a flame. “I lived. Your grandmother came from these streets. She called me the beggar; I called her mademoiselle, and she gave me a gift.” 

Nervous, she kept him talking, though she didn't know why. “What gift?” 

“A penniless man could find happiness with a purpose.” Abraham took Emmeline’s hand; she’d bruised it to the pavement. “Isn’t it a gift when time stands still?”

She caught the lighter when he tossed it into the air. “Nicolas.” 

“Knew we’d get there eventually,” he said encouragingly, placing a hand on her back. “Unless you prefer me to call you Jacqueline’s granddaughter, I need a name, though you resemble a sow. You breathe like a wheezing cat with a punctured lung.” 

“Thank you. It’s Emmeline.” She took this as a compliment and made him laugh. Emmeline reached out for him, and surprised when he leaned in, touched his face. He placed his withered hand over her smooth one and said she mirrored her grandmother. 

“He’s a fretful fellow, your English husband,” said Mr. Flamel. They stopped outside 57 rue de Montmorency. 

“You’ve met him?” Slightly surprised, she raised her eyebrows. 

Emmeline took out the key and unlocked the door. The place was empty, as she expected, and the front door put up a fight when the locks stuck, but she twisted it and gave what Gideon referred to as a little English. Emmeline never quite understood the meaning behind this term. They were here at least for the foreseeable future, so she checked the structure and detected small hints of magic with the spells Nicolas cast. A quiet man, he didn't say much, so she checked out the two small bedrooms and found a rat in the shower. Nicolas, smiling when she started screaming like a madwoman, came in and said she would not have made it in his day. 

“We’ll add it to the stew,” he said brightly, disposing of the creature and coming back to announce Gideon forgot his French lessons. Emmeline got the punchline late; the old man meant to do nothing with the vermin. He took her into the large kitchen and conjured a table and chairs before he unburdened himself with the takeaway. 

“That’s the brother,” said Emmeline, for she should’ve known Gideon would not have allowed her to stray far without the babysitter. Fabian, grinning, magicked plates and silverware and milled around like he owned the place. 

“Who is the homeless bloke? What have we told you about you and your stray cats?” Fabian laughed in the old man's face when he gave his name.

Fabian waved his fork at the Auberge Nicolas Flamel logo in the takeaway bags and chatted at the man as Nicolas lit a fire the old-fashioned way and left to tend to the old stone fireplace. Fabian turned to Emmeline as she tapped her duck breasts with a fork and dipped her toast in the sauce. Nicolas came back and set a large lantern with blue flames on the table. Nicolas snapped his fingers, took Fabian’s fork with prawn on the tongs, took a small vial from within his robes, and spilled a drop onto the utensil.

The fork shifted from silver to pure gold as it clanged onto the wooden surface. 

“What the hell?” Fabian, shocked, backed away from the table. 

Nicolas, completely at his ease, plucked off the prawn and popped it into his mouth. “A man ought not to steal another man's food. Take it.” 

“The fork? Is Midas yanking my wand here?” Fabian took his advice and stowed it away because he didn’t need telling twice. Nicolas, merely for his own amusement, beckoned to Emmeline with two fingers and took a glass instrument out from his robes and heated it with the pipe. “What’s he doing?” 

“What’s missing?” Nicolas handled her a puzzle and quipped in an impatient tone. He shot rapid fire alchemical jargon at Emmeline, complaining when he registered no light coming on upstairs. Emmeline whispered heat. Nicolas turned his eyes towards the ceiling and waited for her to strike with the silver cigarette lighter. Emmeline, guessing she did this incorrectly, cupped her hand over the flame and shivered when the flame shifted from orange to a pale green. “How well do you play?” 

“Transmutation.” Emmeline set the lighter down, opened the lantern carefully, and held her hands at a safe distance. Nicolas, apparently not satisfied with this, stood up to snatch her wrist and held it directly over the flame. The flames shared a connection, so the flame lighting the alembic flickered as the flames licked her fingers. She cried out, feeling the pain, and Fabian got to his feet. “Energy cannot be created nor destroyed, so it moves.” 

“Sit down, boy, I will not hurt her.” Nicolas sounded almost bored, released her. “I will burn you again. Your hands, these hands, they are too soft. If you fear injury or fire, you are wasting my time. I held your grandmother’s hands to the grate when she was sixteen, and I made her stand outside punching the walls of this restaurant till she bled and broke the nerve endings. You’ll get burned. You want to light yourself aflame?” 

Emmeline shook her head. Nicolas huffed, satisfied he’d made a point. He gestured at the food, telling her to eat. Not the friendliest of men, he made comments about her figure and recommended she fight to get whatever hopes of a figure she had once back. Alchemy required a man to move quickly on his feet, and what exactly was he supposed to do with a fat woman? Emmeline, who hadn't eaten since breakfast, shushed Fabian. Fabian might be a single man who lived a carefree lifestyle, but he'd go down swinging for his people. 

“I’m not an alchemist,” she said. 

“Not yet,” said Nicolas pointedly. 

Emmeline said thank you, but no, thank you. He sneered at her, promising he’d no doubt have Albus Dumbledore’s head for this. He slapped his hands together, furious, not touching his food. He sneered at her, walked around the table, dropped his kindness, and forced her to meet his eyes. He rested his hand on her throat and locked his hold; he possessed strong, calloused hands. Emmeline gasped for air, shaken, and found no words.

He spoke calmly, quite naturally, like they discussed weather over coffee. “The air rushing from your lungs? You’re thinking of your child, perhaps your husband. Papa waiting for you to come home? If you walk away from this, you are a waste. I don’t care about time. How much time do you need before you collapse on this cold floor?” 

“Please.” Emmeline tried to pry his fingers apart. 

“Where’s Papa? Earth moves slowly.” Nicolas dropped his hand when Fabian lifted his wand. Emmeline gulped down air, got shakily to her feet, and stood by the basin. “Funny how life no longer matters until we fight for it because we’re losing it. The chocolate mouse? It’s not your grandmother’s, but it’s worth a taste.” 

“You’re insane,” said Fabian, stowing his wand away. 

“You’re throwing a gift away, and you’re acting like an entitled princess,” said Nicolas, pointing a finger at Emmeline. He shook his head, furious when she said she wasn't her grandmother, and she was no partner like Albus Dumbledore. “You don’t know! You think he was special at seventeen? Why? I could’ve let your grandmother starve or thrown her into an orphanage.” 

Emmeline washed her hands in the basin. “Why didn't you?”

“Because you’re special. Retort and athanor. What are these things?” Nicolas nodded as she said the first was a glassware distiller and an athanor operated as a furnace. Though he clearly found no friend in Fabian, he gestured at him, seeking an ally. He strode over to her, conjured a white apron, and pulled it over her large frame. He tied the strings with nimble fingers. 

“A wasted interpreter. You wish to talk and for someone to hear you? Talk to me. If you’re anything like Jacqueline, you may actually stumble upon something interesting. You obviously married the smart twin. Be ordinary or extraordinary, Madame Marceau, for it’s your choice.” 

Emmeline blinked furiously, and Fabian, relaxing as he laughed this off, explained the sudden tears to Nicolas. “She’s hungry and tired.” 

“Right. Say something.” Nicolas took two green apples out of a fruit basket and offered her his other hand, careful to keep the fruit out of her reach. “I’ve prepared a honey cake for you because Jacqueline said it’s one of your favorites. Not that I’m coercing you into this, but do we have an accord?” 

“It’s the definition of coercion,” said Fabian, aghast. “What twisted world do you come from? When were you born?”

“Paris. 1326, though I don’t have a birthdate to give you because we didn't bother recording such things,” he said, shrugging when Emmeline gave a slow and uncertain yes. “You share an uncanny resemble with your grandmother. I’m reminded of when she was pregnant with her children. Mr. Prewett, she looks a little faint, so you might want to grab your brother.” 

Fabian stood stock-still. “I’m fine where I am, thanks.” 

“Fabian, I’m fine,” said Emmeline, taking Nicolas’s hand. Fabian rolled his eyes at the ceiling, muttering about a strange man coming down a dark alleyway, and Disapparated. Nicolas raised his eyebrows in question. “They worry.” 

“All the ones you’ve lost? I would’ve had you in your lying-in ages ago, but they don’t really do that anymore seeing as women went mad.” Nicolas explained he’d met Gideon when he signed the property deed. “The apron’s for protecting your clothes when we practice, you you’re obviously not in the mood.” 

“I’m sorry.” Emmeline turned towards the door when the brothers came back. In the last months, Gideon wore a permanently crazed expression whenever he got the slightest news about her. Bill followed close behind. Ignoring Nicolas, he, Gideon, shot straight for her and shouted about the door being unlocked. Not knowing what else to do to calm him, she kissed him, and he gave in for a moment and held her at arm’s length. “Gideon, you are going to keel over and it’s not even here yet.” 

“You don’t follow homeless people in Paris. Have you lost your mind?” Gideon shook her a little and ignored Nicolas when he said he had eleven properties. Nicolas asked Fabian for the fork and slapped it and a carved cross in Gideon’s open hand, and Gideon, recognizing the religious artifact, ran a hand through his hair. He cursed. 

“This was Perenelle’s.” Nicolas fingered the cross and handed the fork back to Fabian. “I took it, so it’s mine now. Well, actually she gave it to me in exchange for a ring in 1358 because we didn't wear bands. He tapped the trinket lazily with his wand and transfigured it back into a golden wedding ring Emmeline hadn't noticed before and smiled as he replaced it on his finger. “She thinks it’s funny now.” 

“Mr. Flamel.” Gideon placed his hands on Emmeline’s shoulders. “We were simply here for a funeral, and I think it would be wise if we headed home.” 

“Is this not your home? You are here for a death and a birth, giving the state of her.” Nicolas knelt, addressing Bill, and held a hand. “A pleasure, Monsieur Marceau.” 

“What’s he talking about?” Bill, frightened, backed towards Fabian. 

“He’s my nephew, not my son, and you don’t get to meet any of my children until I give the say so.” Gideon tried to steer Emmeline away until he seemed to realize it was his house. Emmeline told him to stop. “Ask him about Jacqueline.” 

“I don’t…” Emmeline could ask him about stories about her grandmother at anytime. 

“Where did you get the lighter? The silver one?” Gideon sighed, frustrated when Emmeline went back over to Nicolas, but he kept his eyes on the old man, laughing harshly when Nicolas Flamel said he gave a silver cigarette lighter to all his apprentices. “Yes, but why would you steal from her? You loved Jacqueline.” 

“Isn’t she beautiful, your precious wife? Do you have any idea what she’s worth?” Nicolas mirrored Emmeline’s face as she switched from doubt to fear. He shushed her as Emmeline started to whimper at his touch. She reached out for Fabian and they Disapparated. When they appeared on the docks, Emmeline opened her mouth to scream, but the man steered her near a building and laid his hand on her throat after he disarmed her. He dropped the tone and his English leaked through. “I will snap your neck and throw your body into the Channel.”

Emmeline spat in his face. 

“I thought this would be a nice touch for your grandfather, for him to suffer and lose the women closest to his heart the day he buries his wife,” said the man, shifting his features as he scrunched his nose in concentration. He changed into a younger man with curly hair and made the sign of the cross. 

“The priest,” she breathed. 

“Funny what an old lady will tell you as she lies there dying,” said the man, a simpering smile touching his lips. “We see what we want to believe. Your weakness? Honey cake with lavender and rosemary. He rides you like a horse. Are you good?”

“Your name.” Emmeline crossed her arms when the man backed off. She pleaded with him, dropped the request, and let the truth set in. She couldn't run, and even if she could, he’d catch up with her. She heard a faint pop in the distance and made to run for the cargo assistant as soon as the ferry came in. “My husband … my husband will give you anything you want. Let me go, and we’ll … we’ll pretend this never happened.” 

“Ah, madame,” he said, breathing smoke into her face as he lit his pipe. He walked with her in a kind of dance. Emmeline stepped back, guessing it was midnight because the guards slept nearby by the cargo. As they neared the edge, she heard cries in both French and English, and her heel snapped as she swayed on the edge of the dock. “Do you fear death? It’s freezing in January.” 

Emmeline, scared out of her mind, set her jaw. “No.” 

“Careful, careful, madame.” The man caught her as she swayed and held her as he whispered a name in her ear. He told her to relax as he pulled her in. Next moment, as flashes of light streaked past him, he shoved her away from him and told her she was nothing. 

Emmeline screamed as she hit the water and swept below its depths. The first time she broke the surface, she raised her arms and went down again. She kicked off her shoes, kicking, and moved her arms. Exhaustion came quicker than she’d expected, and she seriously debated stopping as her muscles cramped, but Jacqueline’s voice filled her mind and her face swam into view as Emmeline got kicked in the ribs. Emmeline broke the surface again, air and water filling her lungs, and she wondered if it would be so awful to see Jacqueline again. 

The next time she broke through, she gave up. Another hand grabbed hers and she leaned into a man who smelled of tobacco. He spoke in French, rapid French, and chuckled when she muttered about her husband, although she gave him the name of Anthony Wilkes. Emmeline rested her head of his shoulder, apologizing as he carried her dead weight, but he merely carried her up the steps. 

A body lay on the docks. Out of the corner of her eye, Emmeline saw a little boy racing towards them. When the man told her to shut up, she thought he leaned into to check on her, and the sound of his laughter calmed her. Gideon always found it mildly funny when she went the wrong way, and he’d add this to the list of mistakes. A cargo worker handed her a blanket and muttered about calling an ambulance. 

“What’s so funny?” Fabian picked up Bill and paced the docks. “You gotta tell him he can't tell his mother. Molly’s going to murder us.” 

“We got married right over there.” Gideon pointed at the crates, reached into his robes, and tossed a soaked parcel of cigarettes on the dock. “Are you all right?” 

“Yes.” Emmeline got a nudge a few minutes later to confirm this as Gideon pulled her to her feet. They both took one of Bill’s hands and waited for Fabian to stop chatting up a late night passenger. “She’s fine because I can feel her. We’re fine.” 

Gideon beamed from ear to ear, saying he definitely wanted to get her checked out before or after she gave a statement to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. She hadn't noticed them before and wondered when they arrived on the scene. Emmeline shrugged and rolled her eyes when he mouthed “her”. Bill said they were weird, and Gideon added a dash of strangeness never hurt anyone. Emmeline asked after Nicolas Flamel and Gabriel Marceau when she reached the officers, and she learned neither of them had been in danger. 

She paled. “What if something happens?” 

“Life happens. Emmeline, I’m right here, and I’m not going anywhere.” Gideon placed a hand on her back and gave her a whiskery kiss. “It won't be long now, and you’ll be falling in love with her, won’t you?” 

“Who?” Bill frowned at them. 

“Oh, and you, she’ll be your favorite,” said Gideon, offering his nephew a piggyback ride. Bill said girls were all right, but he wasn’t going to make any promises. Gideon winked at Emmeline, making her blush. “I don’t know, Bill, I ran into some simple French girl and she changed everything. You never know.” 

*The French translation given here is given roughly as "breathe, breathe."

**Author's Note:**

> The information given on Nicolas Flamel follows what I could find as true. There is a restaurant called Auberge Nicolas Flamel in Paris at 51 rue de Montmorency. Hope you enjoyed it. Let me know what you thought. Thanks for reading.


End file.
